The Darkness Nightly
by Dancce
Summary: How much would you give someone to make them set you free? Soulafein made the ultimate mistake: he'd said 'everything'. Gromph Baenre'd never believed in bonds...  but not all of them are formed by feelings. Nonexplicit slash... or is it something else?
1. The Darkness Nightly: Found

**A/N: **Hi there, sweethearts. I have spinned this little intrigue as a part of Soulafein's rather tragic background and for further use in our RP, which pretty much begins to resemble a depressing psychological thriller. :D Also, I needed a break from my regular writing activities, so I thought that writing in a world not entirely my own - therefore not demanding that much attention to detail - might be a nice change of pace. Like a holiday, really. As this story came out rather long for a single chapter, I decided to split it. It is actually sort of a one-shot, only I tend to protract things in general, let alone my writing, so there are probably about two to three chapters ahead. And to conclude it all - English is not my native language. I don't even live anywhere near to an Eglish-speaking country. My native language is one of the Slavic tongues, so please excuse any mistakes in grammar. I tried. ;)

Reviews are, of course, loved, flames are, of course, ignored, and all that usual stuff. Anyway, feel free to express yourselves and your opinion, or only drop a note to tell me that you are alive and breathing. ;) 'Hoj! Enjoy. :)

**Warning:** Soulafein Jiole Su'aco absolutely belongs to himself, that means me, no arguing about that, and under no circumstances let Gromph, CX or the Plane of Shadows delude you into believing any nonsense of theirs. Also, all the characters, places, spells and things you don't recognize are the product of my personal Army of mages, so hands off, you could get bitten. To death. :D Admit it, you would never know how to use any of it properly, anyway.

Rated mature for language, sexual tension, psychological torment, violence and angst.

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** The Darkness Nightly**

**I. Found**

_Shivering in the dark. That's all there was. Ever. The creatures of darkness caressing with their soft breaths, whispers, brushing his face with gentle deceptiveness, deceptive gentleness… it didn't matter in this place of shadows. It wasn't even a real place to begin with, a mirror image only, a desperate distortion of the true thing. Not real._

_But guess what._

_The place just apparently wasn't paying attention._

_There was no way out! And it hurt! The loneliness, the fear…_

_The night, their voices, screaming, filling his head… the slow pulsing of the shadows… murmuring, enchanting, threatening…_

_There wasn't much of anything any more._

_Just his head full of their breathing._

_Of their night._

_And it was cold, so very cold here. He couldn't stand it._

_The creatures of the darkness would hunt him, and he would run. They would say things to him now, their dim consciousnesses like small twirls of violet fire in the black. And maybe he would get lost again, like in the beginning, and see the citadel, looming somewhere where nothing should have been._

_The creatures of the darkness would hunt him, and he would become one of them._

_Already had._

_-----_

The tall man stood silently, contemplating the broken, huddled figure in front of him.

Looked like another drow.

Certainly not what he had been expecting when stepping through the self-made portal. Well, he _did_ expect an ambush, he always did, paranoia a good old friend of his surprisingly high age. But it was more like, he thought in terms of small armies, his beloved, pissed off sister or, perhaps, the rest of Sorcere combined?

Not a young boy shuddering on the ground… sort of.

Someone was trying to get clever.

Counting by the distances out there, he was far from the city by many miles now. The silent, grey shadows roiled around them, a warped, crude imitation of some plain or cave… who could tell. It could possibly even be a fake of the Suraface as far as he was concerned… the space being a strange thing here. With his next step, he could end up back in the Underdark without a fuss… or not. Who cared. He could find his way around if need be.

He examined the guy, not as much suspicious as morbidly curious. Didn't they always get all creative in the end.

It wasn't as if there was much to look over. The kid was a wisp, of a very slight build, his face hidden by his arms and waist-reaching, irregularly cut white hair. They had a rare, peculiar silver shine about them. His ears were strewn with sapphire piercings.

Hmph. The Plane of Shadow didn't seem like an optimal choice if one was considering the possibility of taking a nap.

The tall drow crouched next to the prone form, alert but unconcerned. He'd already cast some detection spells, the first thing any healthy, self-respecting wizard'd do, and the results came back happily skipping, no Quenthel in the neighbourhood. Whatever.

He got up again and prodded the stranger with his foot, then stooped over and grabbed a handful of long, sleek strands, none-too-gently turning the other elf's head so as to see his face.

The stranger's eyes snapped open and there was a brief gleam of pure turquoise in the gloom.

Then something weird happened.

The turquoise disappeared. Tendrils of black materialized out of nowhere, coiling in his pupils; the surrounding darkness appeared to coalesce around the lying body in a flash, dissolving his silhouette in a whirl of shadows.

Gromph Baenre had seen his fill of weird things during his lifetime.

He spun around, left hand raised just in time for the bluish shield spell to halt two bolts of lightning zipping in his direction.

Well, that was mildly interesting.

The kid was standing behind him, streaks of shadow curling around his slender frame and up his shoulders, the whites of his eyes completely overlayed by shifting, swirling grey, a small ball of electricity curled in his left palm.

He looked totally insane.

The whelp wasn't asyoung as he'd first seemed to be; could be about eighty, ninety years of age, with delicate, clean-cut features, and was easily the most breath-taking man Gromph had ever seen. Intricate lines of an elegant white tattoo threaded down the silvery black marble skin under his right cheekbone, casually underlining his unusual looks. There was another sapphire piercing in his right eyebrow and two silver pellets in the inner corners of his eyes. The venomous glare he was sending the other elf's way was not entirely natural.

Gromph took in the fluid way magic came to him, that his clothing was expensive but somewhat out of date… Something was off here. It must have been a shadow being mimicking the Prime, probably by reading reflections of Gromph's mind… but he was shielded against such attempts.

No-one messed with him. He snapped his fingers unconcernedly, a mind-binding spell springing to life and wrapping itself tightly around the opposing spell-caster in a shimmer of purple. "Reveal yourself!"

The thing narrowed its striking eyes, sneering. "We are the night, flesh. Die for us." The voice was hissing, echoing in the empty space like a choir of wraiths' whisperings, and most certainly didn't belong to anything originating from the Prime Material Plane.

Gromph slightly raised an eyebrow. Kind of impertinent, wasn't it, considering whose spell was holding whom.

"You're not holding us, meat. We are all around you. We are this place you are treading."

Gromph didn't comment, not liking any kind of idle threats as it happened, and clapped his hands, meaning to kill the thing and move on. It'd got too much of his attention as it was already.

But.

Suddenly, the darkness left the young drow's eyes and his body went rigid, rising in the air. He screamed, coils of black piercing through him violently, holding him near, then releasing him abruptly. He fell on his knees, trembling uncontrollably while harsh pants struggled to escape his throat. His irises went to bright turquoise once again, a dazzling shine in the never-ending twilight. "Sons…ofa…"

But the shadow still hadn't left his proximity. Still curled around his forearms.

The young man didn't even seem to notice.

Gromph stopped his movement, a fleeting interest piqued.

"Tired of fighting them… damned cheating matter-shifting bastards…" The drow's head was bowed, long unruly bangs effectively hiding his expression. His tone sounded breathless, slightly hysterical and very much acidic. Then… "WHY the HELL am I stuck in this goddamned place in the first place, I ask!" he yelled suddenly, causing another gentle rise of Gromph's eyebrows. ,,What _the fuck_!! Wish I could drag their interstines all _over_ the place, cook them, throw them away, _except _they have _no_ interstines _and _I used the word place for the _third time _in one sentence, WHATEVER!"

If Gromph had been used to emoting, he might have wondered.

At the same moment, the young elf lifted his head. "_Vith!!_" He was on his feet immediately, the incredible turquoise gaze narrowed suspiciously. "And what would _you _like, good fellow? A-ah!" He wiggled his finger at Gromph when the afore-mentioned made a move to step closer. "Stay the shit away from me!" He broke off, shutting his mouth with a snap. "Didn't make much sense, now did it," he muttered.

Gromph just looked at him. The child was raving mad. He should probably simply kill him and get over it.

However… the way he seemed to be…

He crossed his arms on his chest. "Spit out your name and station, pup."

The weird drow regarded him somewhat warily. "I have no such thing." His voice went to coolly practical in the blink of an eye. The shadows on his arms crawled higher and promptly disappeared in the vicinity of his heart.

There was _something_ about him… the way he interacted with the plane. Gromph had never seen anything quite like that before. His keen interest for all things magical immediately set his mind to calculating.

"You cannot lie to me, drowling." He drew nearer, even as the other one skittered backwards, jittery, his nerves apparently in a very poor condition. "I know you."

The young dark elf's pupils widened and he shook his head frantically, a faint flicker of ruby igniting his eyes this time, hot and angry. "Don't you dare touch us, mortal!"

Ripples of black shot along the ground, humming faintly. The turquoise dimmed again.

"You don't want to die, do you." Gromph didn't let himself be interrupted, never once looking away from the lad. He took another step closer. "If you did, you would have surrendered by now. Nobody wants to die."

The drow froze. He appeared to be transfixed, staring silently at the other male.

"I know where you are from. You are not supposed to be here, child. No-one's supposed to stay here. This place is mad. Is it not?"

It was as if the older elf's words were spinning an invisible web around the imaginary circle the two occupied, like bars of a closing cage, so stiff and still the stranger became. His intense attention pierced through the short distance separating them, waiting.

"You are no longer sane. You know it."

That seemed to do it. A fear, an eerie, unspoken terror flashed through the young drow's expression for a moment, his darkened eyes admitting without wavering. Madness resided on their bottom, acknowledged and resigned upon. There was no more energy. No more hope.

"What do you want?" he mumbled. His voice, no longer hysterical, sounded soft and resembled black velvet – low, mellow, warm in quality.

"Your name." Gromph held his gaze with an imperiousness that shot straight to his core and didn't allow him to even breathe the wrong way.

"You're him, aren't you." A small amount of sanity trickled back to the stranger's features. "Menzoberranzan's Archmage."

Gromph gazed at him, unfazed, and pulled away the high collar of his cloak, the revealed insignia of power shimmering unobtrusively on the dark blue and red of his attire.

"Citadel." And the other one crumpled where he stood, a frail outline of silver in the dark.

Gromph slowly crossed the space between and crouched on the ground above the young man. The turquoise eyes were stubborn behind the curtain of tussled hair. A slender hand gripped the hem of the Archmage's robes, strong in its desperation.

"Take me out," he whispered.

"What will you give me if I do?"

"…everything."

Then he fainted.

-----

Whatever there was at first, the life as it once had been was gone forever now. Now there wasn't much of anything any more.

Oh, but yes. The insanity stayed.

Soulafein stared silently at the tapestry-covered wall mere inches from his face. It was dark blue and black, with a complex embroidery wrought in fine silver threads. The skin of his arm felt unusually cool under his cheek.

The sound of a door opening and closing came and went, muted by thick carpets covering the floor. An additional weight sat down on the side of the bed. Soulafein didn't turn around.

"Are you coherent?" The voice behind the question felt clear and composed, the kind of stern balance that only those powerful enough not to speak about it ever achieve.

Soulafein continued to stare at the tapestry. "Yes, Archmage."

"Do you remember anything?"

There was a short pause. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Our meeting."

A short pause again. "I had asked for a way out. Apparently, your intentions coincided with mine."

"What is your name?"

"Soulafein Jiole Su'aco."

"That is not a real name."

"I know."

He could feel a calm, contemplative gaze boring into his back. "Are you trying to set me off?"

The younger drow finally turned and sat up. "Not especially, Archmage. Don't think I don't realize that I'm in your debt. What would you like me to do?"

Gromph stood up and crossed his arms on his chest. He didn't look exceptionally threatening – he was just there. And the whole building could tell. "State your rank and profession."

Soulafein slipped from the bed and took a few steps in the direction of the exit. His gait was exceedingly graceful and light, like it cost him no effort to move at all. His piercings glittered briefly in the soft glow of purple faerie fire on the far wall.

"I'm a wizard. Graduated at Sorcere, a while back."

Gromph frowned a little. "How long were you trapped in that plane?"

"Half a century." The turquoise eyes went guarded.

The frown increased. "How old are you?"

"Ninety-eight, I believe."

"Impossible," came the immediate response.

There was the faintest trace of a smirk on Soulafein's face for a second. "Why so, Archmage?"

"Cast a spell."

Soulafein gave a somewhat crooked half-smile and stretched his right hand in front of himself. There was a moment of softly muttered words, swift, sure gestures, some quick jumbling of spell-components appearing out of nowhere, and a small ball of white-blue lightning, crackling furiously, levitated above the dark elf's upturned palm, aching to be released. It could probably blow up the whole floor.

"I am awaiting your commands, Archmage."

"Dispel it."

Soulafein shrugged, and the ball snaked up his arm, dissipating by the time it reached his shoulder.

"Any specializations?"

"Electric magic and… shadow… stuff."

Gromph studied the other drow pensively. He couldn't possibly be so lucky. The young mage had the looks, the education, was apparently flexible and outstandingly intelligent.

The schooling at Sorcere normally lasted thirty years, with the required age of students being twenty years at least. The Archmage saw him casting, thrice. This time, the kid went through the rhythm of magic with the same efortless ease with which he moved, the same ease he displayed in the Shadow Plane under the pressure of stress and madness, using incantations he shouldn't have been able to read, much less actually bring to work. Many of his elder colleagues had considerable problems with the complexity of gestures and pronunciation. Gromph personally could indeed name a few.

The child was an accomplished mage, a prodigy…

"Do I look young to you?" The fixed stare of a pair of turquoise eyes brought Gromph out of his contemplations. Soulafein stood ramrod straight and there was something almost angry in his expression.

"You don't seem young to me. You are young." Under normal circumstances, the Archmage would not suffer any impertinence from his subordinates. However, there was no way how to test behaviour patterns of something that new without giving it free reign for a while.

"I suppose you are bound to regard me that way."

Now that was a strange answer.

"How did you end up trapped in that place?"

Soulafein went guarded and wary once again. "An accident."

Gromph's stare held the weight of lead as it sharply nailed the other mage to the floor.

The young male hung his head slightly, his hair cascading to hide his eyes. "I do not remember, Archmage. I am sorry."

Gromph stayed silent. Methods existed to verify the truth of his words, and he would use them later if necessary. For now, there were other concerns.

"You didn't state your rank."

"I do not have any, Archmage." It was strange. All the signs of hysteria, of disrupted balance, aggression, they were gone now. There was almost no sarcasm, even. But Gromph could see it all nonetheless, lurking down in the depths of turquoise, biding its time. He reckoned that the kid was being in some kind of shock at the moment. "I am just me, I'm afraid."

"Cut it off, drowling. I'd told you you couldn't lie to me. State your rank. Now."

Soulafein sighed and looked Gromph in the eyes. "I used to be a House Wizard."

Check. The man was a noble. Check. The man was incredibly talented, unnaturally so. No-one becomes a House Wizard at the age of forty-eight.

"Shift."

"Excuse me?" Soulafein was still looking into his eyes, a silent question inscribed in his own.

"Shift. Like you did in the Shadow Plane."

And it was back. Immediately, blind panic arose to Soulafein's face, his whole body starting to shake. "No."

Interesting. "Are you defying me?"

"…no."

"So shift."

"No."

Gromph began to walk toward the mage, Soulafein backing away with every step he took. Then there was nowhere else to back to, unless one could move through solid walls.

The Archmage looked down at the shivering male, plastered back-first to the tapestry. "You said 'everything'."

And Soulafein closed his eyes. It was like a trigger word had been breathed into his ear, another one of their incantations, a command that compelled beyond the ordinary superior-subordinate relationship. Like it was magic. "I did," he whispered, and he dissolved into a whirl of shadow swirls.

Gromph turned around.

The liquid darkness formed again in the shadow cast by a bookcase on the other side of the room, stepping out of the dim frame on the ground as if it were a doorway. Then it coalesced back into Soulafein's slight build.

He was proud. He didn't give in to the tremble that was trying to overtake his body. But when he looked up at the Archmage, his eyes were insane once more.

"It is still there," he breathed.

And he fled.


	2. The Darkness Nightly: Lost

**A/N:** Good evening there, sweethearts. Here is the second and final part of the first story arc, so to speak - may it brightens your day as something good enough to devote a few minutes of your reading time to. :) I am already concocting the next chapter, so we'll see what evil I can bring to life this time... Feel free to rant in your reviews - it's the only pay I'll ever get. :D

Also, it is quite late at night now, I went to sleep at 4.00 in the morning yesterday and I am incredibly sick for the second time this autumn, which is a small miracle allright, as, usually, I have a very good resistance to such things. What I meant to say - please, excuse any grammar mistakes, as it is more than possible that I was hallucinating at the time. ;)

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**The Darkness Nightly**

**II. Lost**

Soulafein walked the streets of Menzoberranzan, and no-one recognized him any more.

Merchants, slaves, priestesses, a hive of things bent onto themselves, all of them crowded the lanes, filled up the Bazaar, flocked around shops and taverns, soldiers stood silent and ominous by the borders of their respective noble Houses, and all that ever changed were the faces.

_How much can nothing change in fifty years?_

Soulafein walked slowly and didn't look around. He imagined he felt eyes on him, and shadows kept leaping at him from behind the corners, magic flickering between his delicate fingers every time. There were those soft, shimmering violet flames everywhere he glanced, only to discover it was just purple _faerie fire_ the next moment. The citadel loomed in front of him, and then it did not, and he felt anger, and then calm, and then his sanity, and then nothing again.

This damned city, this damned life he'd thought was a hallucination of his tired mind, all of it came rushing up to him after half a century of living a darkness, and it wasn't even a bit more real than the first time around.

He couldn't believe it.

He couldn't believe he was allowed to live again.

That he needed someone's allowance!!

Loved it or hated it, once he'd had a life almost worth living. He'd had power, he'd had influence and, most of all, he'd had magic stronger than borders of worlds. And he'd had dancing, all those times ago… until it all shattered like the fragile crystal it had been.

He stared at his right palm for a moment, liquid shadow coalescing, then dissipating in the gloom.

Lying had always come naturally to him. He didn't consider it difficult to fool the Archmage, however dangerous the man might be… he wasn't alive long enough to start caring yet. He would, eventually.

Nobody wants to die.

But there was more than just one archmage in this city of wonders and eternal night… certainly there had been fifty years ago. Soulafein felt weak now… all that he used to be sapped by the Plane of Shadows, washed away, his soul stripped, sick… vulnerable. The insanity of his cursed bloodline finally getting that free reign it had always craved. He wasn't stupid – he knew.

Maybe there were ways to gain again… He summoned the shadow matter once more, running his fingers through its intangible substance. Maybe there were ways to live again. A different kind of existence… but an existence nonetheless. The Planes had touched him, and such caresses tended to stay. But he could redirect his power sources, take the darkness for his own, and combine both Weaves into one. He could do a thing like this. He could…

Was he even a living being any more?

He lifted his eyes and almost smiled. The turquoise gleamed softly in the dusk.

**---**

Gromph stood in the corridor and silently looked at the corpses. A few of the Masters of Sorcere lined the hall's edges behind his back, indrawn and neutral.

"Why are the three of them dead?" The Archmage's voice was quite serene, unlike the small ruby flames igniting in his eyes.

Jhailrin Ariondath calmly surveyed the neat, clean scene in front of him. "It doesn't look like they'd posed much of a problem, anyway. If you're inquiring about the cause of their early demise, it had turquoise eyes and lightning-fast reflexes."

"What happened?"

"A young male blicked out of shadows in the corridor and went on a killing spree. I imagine they just kept trying to prevent him from leaving the building. Probably thought you had been a victim of an assassination or something."

"In that case, they would have been applauding, not hindering him," Gromph murmured.

"Bullshit." Rhyess from the House of Barrison Del'Armgo pushed his way through the small gathering and halted in front of the Archmage with a gloomy scowl gracing his harsh face. "Like hell they'd tried to stop him. Just go. Go." He vaguely gestured in the general direction of an adjoining hallway where the classroom section of that floor began.

The Masters lifted their eyes as one and stared at the nearest corner. Gromph glanced at them once, then assumed an annoyed, no-nonsense look and purposefully strode down the corridor, the back of his cloak flashing angrily as he turned the corner.

Another two corpses.

"Well, little one," Gromph frowned a little. "I am beginning to feel concerned."

**---**

He didn't go back there. What for? There was no-one who'd stay alive in his memory, and he didn't need to see the remains of something buried in the background of Menzoberranzan's rustling subconscious for so long. It was something that belonged to the first life of his, the life spent in a lively curiosity, an endless, unalloyed fascination with magic, when he'd thought that the worlds were his to conquer and wonder at, and the music had been spinning its intricate webs for his ears alone.

What did it matter. He didn't care. How could he? Why would he?

The purity… There used to be something pure about those days. Uncomplicated. The Archmage thought he was clever? That he became a House Wizard at forty-eight? Oh, how short his ageless memory was. He had forgotten so easily… every one of them had. That was the way of this place.

Soulafein passed through the north-western city gates without a second thought, flicking to Shadows and out again, barely even registering the change. Were he to realize his action, he would have been scared – he would have, despite not being scared by anything, ever. He would have shivered, his chest constricted, and, anxiously, he would have waited for the Citadel to reveal its forbidding form in the outlines made of night, a blurry, smudged picture of black mist far away.

However, as it was, the guards never noticed. No-one had.

In a sense, it was more scary still, the ease with which the shadows heeded his will.

Wasn't it?

_Where are you going now, little one, little child, lost alone, forgotten, in the grip of the night? _

He didn't know where he was going; _perhaps,_ a little voice inside of him whispered, _you are not so brave after all. Perhaps you want to end it all…?_

…and return to darkness.

Wasn't it where he belonged now? Dead things should not return from beyond. Relics should stay forgotten… to be found by those who knew where to look.

_Going to, going from, what do you care for me? I was born, like yourself, to find my destiny._

If you have some left, some left, and if you have some left at all… When she'd told me, I had believed.

Since when did mages, of all the beings in the multiverse, care what was natural? The answer was easy there – they didn't. He didn't, either. After all those things, he still didn't.

He stopped when he came to a deep chasm cutting through the short but wide cavern, the chilly draft rising out of its depths holding him at bay.

Cold was making his heart stop. He couldn't stand it. Couldn't breathe it.

He looked around in a kind of a feverish defiance. The ceiling was high and ragged. The walls, covered in glittering, greenish glow of _faerzress_, reflected an eerie light off his hair, eyes and tiny flakes of mica scattered all around.

Wilds of the Underdark... wilds of this world. No-one dared travel through there alone. The air was still. The darkness, despite the shine, thick.

_I am my own master. I bow to no-one. I have freedom at last. I will do… what I…_

Drohorreur's blade sparkled, wreathing his forearm in its mist as he slashed his wrist.

**---**

"Are you really that weak?"

The voice cut through the cave like a snap of a whip.

The Archmage stood under the glow of the enchanted moss, his arms crossed on his chest, watching the scene in front of him with a scowl.

Soulafein turned, his eyes empty. Suddenly, he laughed.

,,Death like this is lost to me," he said, his words flat and toneless. "You think I haven't tried? You think I haven't taken the pains to try hard? A hundred times? A thousand times?" The curved dagger flashed green as he held his arm for Gromph to see. The slash, deep and clean, was seeping a writhing darkness instead of blood, the surrounding skin already beginning to heal. Then the dagger flashed again as it was flung at the Archmage.

It halted in midair and Gromph's eyes flared up with anger. "_Are you trying to attack me?_"

Soulafein turned again from his position with his back to the other male, his own irises kindling with a bright ruby fire. "Yes! With a dagger! Can't you see it's the famous Dagger of Vanquishing Bullshit-asking Foes?!"

There wasn't any warning.

The two spells crashed together halfway between the mages, the whole cavern shaking with the force of the explosion, bits of rock and _faerzress_ crumbling from the ceiling as they negated each other in a violent shiver of raw power.

Gromph's eyes widened slightly.

Soulafein sneered.

And then, there was a whirl of a dark _piwafwi_ and a hand grabbed his left forearm, twisting it roughly behind his back. Drohorreur clinked as it's silver hilt hit the ground. Someone yanked at his wrist, bending his spine into a painful arc.

Soulafein, despite the angry flicker in his eyes, didn't try to defend himself.

"Is this your gratitude?" the Archmage hissed, his slender fingers gripping the dark blue velvet of the younger mage's coat and the tensed flesh underneath with a chilling force stemming more out of pure confidence rather than any actual physical strength.

Soulafein growled softly, then abruptly smiled. "I only counterspelled." His voice was so quiet that it only rose and fell due to the soft cool breeze wafting all of a sudden out of the chasm.

A sharp crack of bone resounded throughout the cave. "I could easily break the rest of your fingers now."

Although wincing in pain, Soulafein still didn't struggle. He bowed his head, random strands of silvery hair slipping over his shoulders. "I'd not break a life debt born under these most unique of circumstances." There was almost laughter in his words. For a second, Gromph wondered how would such a thing sound like without the reckless tinge of bitter madness.

"Five Masters of Sorcere lie dead in the corridors. Care to explain?"

Sapphire earrings glittered and sparkled and danced with light. "I felt like casting. They felt like dying."

A gelid freeze shot up the young drow's throat, choking the breath out of his lungs, clasping his throat with the ruthless force of a furious ice elemental.

Gromph leaned close, his breath misting the silver of the other one's piercings. "You lied to me," he whispered into Soulafein's ear. "And you're lying now. What's more, you don't even try to seem that you are trying to do it properly. What a waste of such a rare young talent."

Hands… hands are the life of a mage. Injured or permanently damaged, they mean an end to any wizardly career, which is equivalent to a death sentence in the indifferent realms of the Underdark.

Soulafein could feel the Archmage's delicate touch on his own cool skin.

For him, losing his hands, and, subsequently, losing his magic in the process, would mean enough to commit immediate suicide.

Not that the Archmage knew that. Yet.

"How could I dare to disagree." His smile was small and held things of shadow and eyes of silver long lost.

Because there are debts that bind infinitely more than any mere debts of life. Like those of desperate escapes. Of liberation. Of sanity.

"You'll work for me." Gromph's voice was calm.

"I will."

"You'll be loyal to me and me alone. You won't betray me. Ever. You will do as I say."

"I will."

"You will yield your magic to me."

The other male immediately stiffened in his arms.

_Where are you going now, little one, little child…_

"You will leave your essence in my custody," Gromph continued, unperturbed, "along with the better part of your power. No-one's that good of an actor, and we can't let them know. You can't play your part as you are now. Because I remember you, archmage Soulafein Ilphrin Az'ssVrei, third son and Elderboy of Eclavdra Az'ssVrei, Matron Mother of the Third House of Menzoberranzan. And I remember your end."

_Going to, going from, what do you care for me? I am bound, spoken for, as it was meant to be._

Gently, Soulafein disentangled himself from the constraining hold and turned around, his lips twitching in a sad smile. "I said 'everything.'"


	3. The Darkness Overheard: It Whispers

**A/N:** So, here it is at last. I'm sorry I kept those interested in Solko's story waiting, but when I'm too tired or just don't feel like writing, there is little that can be done. Also, I have been busy with DM-ing and Solo's current state, so there wasn't much time to dwell on the past. :D

As always, enjoy, rant, hiss in displeasure... would be nice to let me know. Excuse my grammar. Excuse my twisted way of thinking. And, most of all, enjoy! ;)

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**The Darkness Overheard**

**I. The Darkness Whispers**

_**5 of Nightal 1322 DR, the Year of Lurking Death**_

_**Three days out of Shadow**_

_**Sorcere**_

_**Menzoberranzan **_

_A more sane person, perhaps, would be now asking themselves if they hadn't made a terrible mistake. After all, owing one's life to someone else isn't a thing to be taken lightly, and I have lost so much – all that mattered – to him because of that debt._

_But there is one fact, one truth which is certainly something as much unforgettable as it is real, and that would be me not owing him my life._

_Everyone's soul has a gist. To give up the core of yourself is the most shattering experience a person can go through, abandoning your only meaning, your only joy, the reason why, possibly, you'd be willing to try all of the hell your existence has become once again._

_I gave my magic to him._

_Because I do not owe him a life – I owe him a freedom, and I owe him my tears at night._

- Soulafein's personal journal

**-----**

Jhailrin had never been a drow to be easily impressed. By anything. Ever.

There were always many who tried – whether it be his colleagues and their new spells, his subordinates and their minor achievements, his enemies and their mayhap not-so-subtle plottings… Demonweb, even his zombies occasionally lumbered to him, hauling unrecognizable dead things, and, queer as it sounds, hoped to wheedle a word of appreciation out of him.

No-one had ever succeeded. It made the zombies sad, it did.

And so, even now as he walked down a corridor of one of Sorcere's upper floors, he didn't show the least touch of surprise at the sight presented in front of him. When one spends most of their time in the company of dead people, there is never much new left to wonder at.

A strange, slim creature composed mostly of silvery hair and sapphire piercings was blocking the passage through the hall, its rumpled pale blue robes hanging unbuttoned as if the being'd forgotten their very existence, a firm, well-trained stomach showing from under a fairly short silver vest, sloppy gray trousers too big for the thing's slender frame sliding off its narrow hips and disappearing in low black boots. Whatever it was, it literally jingled with a mass of silver chains and bracelets, its robes littered with pockets, buckles and straps covering the creature's entire right arm, its three leather belts threatening to fall off at any moment.

It was yelling at a flock of stunned students.

The students listened.

Jhailrin wasn't really sure what astonished him more – the fact that a… let's call it a person… this… uhm… _exotic's_ the polite word... was roving a place like Sorcere, or that the students actually _listened_ to what he was yelling.

His voice carried for sure.

"What THE HELL?! Am I too short or something? My dear _god!_ Is that a title enough for you? Damn _no_, it isn't!! _I_ am the only god of this place, of your brainwashed chicken thoughts, and of every Lolth-damned spit you say, you understand, to anyone, anytime, anyplace, and that stands true for all the while you're chafing my nerves during your allotted thirty imbeciles' years needed to put the least blink of arcane knowledge into your thick, _atrophied_, UNUSED heads!"

Jhailrin sidled up to one of the kids at the edge of the small crowd, a short, thin boy with a mop of white hair completely covering his left eye.

"Wonder what's going on," he commented casually.

The student startled, then looked at him over his shoulder. A badly concealed shiver ran through him when he recognized the necromancer's notorious face.

"'Morning, sir. Erm… one of my classmates asked him if he knew when the new Master was going to arrive."

"So what?"

"He's the one, sir."

**-----**

"_Ilphrin…"_

"_Ira…"_

"_Shadow is coming."_

"_Help me."_

"_Cannot find you. In the dark..." _

"_There is always darkness. Always night…"_

"_Never fear. The mightiest one, the only one…remember that tiny rhyme?"_

"_Sola!"_

"_Stop chanting… Stop chanting!!"_

"_Help me!!"_

"Ila…"

"Ira…"

"Ila… wake up. Wake up."

A roll in the blankets, soft… sliding. "Phindar…"

A radiantly green little viper with a black zigzag criss-crossing its back curled in the satin sheets, its blindingly bright color literally shining on the backdrop of deep silver covers. Soulafein squinted his eyes closed again.

"What the fuck?" he muttered, his mellow voice muffled by the smooth, cool pillow. "Pike off, legless freak, will you?"

Phindar slithered across the short distance of tangled blankets to lovingly coil around the wizard's neck. "Won't. Gotta something to eat?"

"…'the hell are you good for, anyway? Generating… ultrasound or how to describe your endless whining, covering my earrings in wacky green slime originating the Spider Bitch knows where and pigging yourself on my costly, hard-earned rations obtained in the sweat of my blood…"

"You haven't worked once since you've learned how to dominate a person when you were ten. You even levitate instead of walking. That pretty brow of yours hasn't seen sweat for all of your life, except when thinking real hard about that Stormwhisper incantation equation in 1251 DR."

"Shut up, you oracle." Soulafein peeled the gloating snake off his throat and dropped him onto the second pillow like something toxic his boot had inadvertnently picked up on the street, then turned his back on his familiar.

Phindar just wouldn't take a hint. "On the other hand, the dancing-"

"Shut _the fuck _up!!" Soulafein whirled around much faster than you would have expected from a mage, his eyes blazing with a blinding red fire. "Never, do you hear me, _never_ do I want to hear about those times, about _then_, my books, her, my magic! That was _before_. Nothing's left, not a breath of what world used to be once upon a time! Look at me now! Look! Stripped of all _I_ used to be, a shell of my former self, mad, insane, without a soul or allegiance! Do you recognize me any more at all, me, do you still see me in there, the young archmage with a frantic passion for dancing, the one who madly loved the wild beauty of his profession, the one who laughed almost all the time, who would tell her endless fairytales of dragons, spells, other worlds and how to gate through their borders with his eyes shining, oblivious and indifferent to the purposeless, bloodthirsty life of his kin, because _he_ had something to live for, to kill for – magic soaring to be limitless one day. And I had respect and I had station, and I had all of the world lying at my feet. The music played for my ears alone, and who would claim me now? There's nothing left of me."

Phindar was silent for a long while. Soulafein's slight body trembled, his fists clenched, his knuckles gray from the strain. He stood in the middle of the room, and there was just the faintest of echoes in his voice, a lost reflection of command, that – barely for a second, a passing breath – made things as they had been and all was right again, nothing to fear, nothing to grieve for, only eternity of laughter, spinning in waltz down the corridors of home and studying magic in the evenings, candles, whispered words… forgotten secrets.

And then the spell broke and instead of the brilliant House Wizard of Az'ssun Vrei, a pale, tired boy with bitter eyes took his place, the cold weariness of the past years an anger he could not suppress.

Phindar's deep red forked tongue shot out of his tiny snout as he sniffed the air. His gleaming black pearl-like eyes wouldn't leave those of Soulafein. "I still see you, Master," he said at last.

Soulafein broke down and cried.

**-----**

Narbondel's heat was waning slowly. The bustling activity all of the great cities call their own was following the example, settling for a while, resting, replenishing forces, waiting for the tense silence of Menzoberranzan's sinful nights to continue in a more thoughtful, hushed manner.

The rich sought to dine on fine repasts served in plenty in their grand statued halls after a hard day of killing, plotting and surreptitiously executing their unworthy kin; the poor tried to grab something from the rich without the formerly named noticing.

It was late afternoon when a certain newly appointed Master of Sorcere was heading back to his apartment on his way from his first day's lessons, miffed beyond comprehension and swearing most colorfully.

"…like hell I wanted to teach anyone? What the hell's he thinking? That I'm some kind of nursery service? What's the point, anyway? I can't teach a naiad to bathe. And I'm _not_ short!!"

The figure finally arrived at his door, liquidated the wards with an annoyed sweep and marched into the room. A radiantly green little viper hung around his neck. It didn't seem to mind at all.

Soulafein critically scanned the apartments he'd been assigned. There were four large living rooms, with a natural possibility for an extradimensional cache were he of the mind he needed one, and a magical laboratory he'd specifically required. He had been given considerable funds to furnish everything to his liking, and he'd painstakingly and single-handedly equipped the lab with every contraption he could get his hands on in the short course of the three days since he came... to be here again. Gromph wasn't a fool; even bound as he was, individuals as Soulafein were not servants.

He had also been given a mind-staggering salary. Oh yes, he could remember its aquiring well enough.

"_You want me to _what?_"_

"_You need someplace to live. You claim to have no House. Do you intend to make a _shebali_ out of yourself? The only plausible place for a wizard in your position would be Sorcere. You are powerful more than enough."_

_Yes indeed. Soulafein felt a sudden surge of hate at the look of the Archmage. "No, I intend to join the noble imbeciles of Bregan D'Aerthe and kneel in front of your dimwit of a brother. I'm not an idiot. I've never objected to staying here. I do realize your course of action makes the most sense and provides you with every logical advantage springing thereof, and I do not object. I just think I have a right to yell out my helpless displeasure!"_

_Of course, Gromph smiled and choked his air off until he couldn't remember what he needed it for._

At least the Masters earned quite a bit.

But now, the hour had come when he just couldn't cope any more. He'd been suppressing the fear and confusion since he'd abruptly seen the world reeling once again, with him ending up on its right side this time around... however, fifty years of shadow wouldn't disappear overnight. Wouldn't leave. Would never leave. And he loved his shadow magic and he hated it with a passion, and he was scared to think of another plane jump, yet he kept shifting there, because it was so unnaturally… natural. He was of the both worlds now.

He didn't regret anything.

But with shadows came nightmares.

There was only one way to let go, to try to calm the lurking madness without giving in, to sing himself to sleep with the only one lullaby he had ever known.

He flung his bag into the nearest wall, grabbed a strange book bound in dark blue velvet and took off.

He opened his door into a zombie lurking just beyond. "Cripes."

"Hey there. Would you be ever so kind and discuss with me a thing or two?" the zombie said.

"Right." Soulafein closed the door, totally unimpressed. "I'm sorry but I'm in a bit of a hurry right now. Dictate me your grave number and the date of your un-birth, and I'll see what Abyss can do."

"Touché."

Soulafein barely glanced at the shadowy figure leaning on the opposite wall near the corner. "Didn't they teach you not to leave your toys scattered under other people's feet?"

"Actually, I don't know. It's possible I didn't hear them above the cracking of whips."

"Most unexpected." Soulafein set out down the corridor. His step was very light, as if shadows themselves softened his gait. "May you and your charming corpse rest in peace. _Aluve'._"

Jhailrin watched him go, his arms leisurely folded across his chest. An intriguing fellow, to be sure – mayhap His Arrogance Supreme really found something this time. The necromancer still remembered the silent bodies of five Masters lying in Sorcere's halls. Depite the off-centre air, there was steel to be felt. A sharp mind. Sharper, perhaps, than it wanted to appear. "Care to tell me your name?"

The other wizard stopped for a moment and turned around, mildly annoyed. "Soulafein Jiole Su'aco. I'll give you my complete biography written in extensive detail, nothing omitted, including my first kiss, as soon as I have it transcribed from its illegible form, as I wouldn't dream of making your eyes ache."

"Really?"

"No. Any other questions? Thought so. Goodbye."

"Liked your first day?"

"Immensely. There is nothing better than a delightful serving of stewed brains in the morning. I bet you could tell." Soulafein's glinting turquoise eyes smirked. "Go on, introduce yourself, as I see you won't be able to enter Reverie ever again if I were to rob you of the opportunity."

Jhailrin lazily shrugged. "Jhailrin Ariondath, three hundred and seventy-nine years old. Necromancer and potionmaster. I like death, decay, romantic walks in graveyards and stewed mushrooms with nuts, actually, although I could find a use for a brain or two."

There it was, the faintest outline of the smirk reaching Soulafein's delicate lips. Jhailrin noted a silver piercing in the other mage's tongue. The guy surely seemed fond of the things. The necromancer would leech the life out of his own right hand himself if all of the jewelry wasn't enchanted more heavily than the old mythals of the Night Above.

"Our students would be more than happy to provide them for you. They apparently have no use for theirs altogether." He spun around and soon disappeared in the maze of Sorcere's complex hallways.

Behind him, the darkness whispered of new ends.


End file.
